


The Boy and the Lake

by timebean



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-22
Updated: 2015-02-22
Packaged: 2018-03-14 09:57:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3406406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/timebean/pseuds/timebean
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just a short drabble about Cullen taking the plunge. For the Cullen thread 5000-page celebration!</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Boy and the Lake

_Autumn has settled over the small village of Honleath. It is just after dawn, and the farmers are making their way to the center of the village, their carts filled with radishes and turnips, apples and pumpkins. The smell of cedar and oak from chimney smoke sticks to the air, and the farmers shiver slightly as they prepare their stalls for market._

_The boy rushes past them, stopping only long enough to purchase a small green apple. His siblings have no use for the autumn market, and have slept in this morning. Gone are the strawberries and oranges of summer and to them, the market seems a dull affair at this time of year. But the boy likes the crisp, tart apples and he likes the cool air and he likes the quiet. It is his favorite time of year._

_He walks past the chantry, and waves to the templars. They shake their heads and smile at him._

_He makes his way to the edge of the village, past the stables. The horses shiver and snort as he walks past them, their coats glistening slightly from the morning fog. He spots the trail that leads down to the lake, and he shuffles down the bank, careful not to slip in the mud. It has been raining for the past few days, and the trail is slippery. But the boy has walked it many times and he knows where to step. He spots a turtle, plodding along through the muck, and stops to pick it up. It retreats into its shell, and the boy runs his finger over the ridges of its belly, noting the pattern of yellow and green and brown. He wonders what it would be like to always have armor on._

_Finally, the lake is in view. The horsetails and reeds stand almost as tall as him, and he likes the feeling of being hidden in them, of watching without being seen. He stands as still as he can, silent by the edge of the lake, watching the fog crawl back up the valley. The surface of the lake is still, and quiet, a mirror of delicate glass stretching out before him, drawing the world into an endless sky._

_He is a patient boy, and does not disturb the surface. He stares across the valley with a silent reverence, waiting for the fog to lift._

_After many quiet moments, the morning sun breaks through the fog. This is his favorite part. The boy holds his breath as the light hits the surface of the water. The glassy surface reflects a thousand beams of indescribable light, and he tries in vain to keep his eyes from squinting against the glare._

_The first ripple moves across the surface, hinting at the cool morning wind._

_He hears a shiver in the leaves as the wind picks up, the reeds rustling softly all around him. He hears the soft fluttering of wings, the shrill call of songbirds in their trees, the somber notes of the water birds, creeping out from their hiding places. The water begins to lap softly against the shore._

_The lake has awakened._

_He pulls his shirt over his head, the cool wind prickling his skin, ruffling his curls. He pulls off his breeches, folding them neatly, stripping down until he stands naked amidst the reeds._

_He makes his way through the tall grass and walks along the small pier, the wood creaking slightly under his bare feet, the water reaching through the cracks to brush against his soles. He stands for a moment, toes curling to grip the edge of the pier, and looks down at his own reflection in the water. The ripples distort his image, but he doesn’t mind. He knows what he looks like._

_He tries to see past his reflection, behind the him that isn’t really him. He catches a glimpse of silver, a bubble of movement, a shifting of mud._

_He reaches up to the low branch that hangs over the pier. His fingers find the rope hidden there. He pulls it out and slowly uncoils it, moving into position, making sure the rope is secure._

_He inhales deeply, stretching his arms above his head. He pulls back on the rope until it is taut and jumps, tucking his knees. He feels a moment of fear as he plunges downward towards the green grass that waves under the water near the shore. The boy doesn’t like getting tangled in the strange grass. He doesn’t like the feeling of mud squishing in his toes, of things crawling and wriggling over his feet._

_But the rope does not fail him. It catches his momentum and tightens. Instead of falling, he swings out in a wide arc over the lake. He lets go at the perfect moment, his body hanging in the air like a falling leaf._

_He doesn’t care for flying. Flying is not the point. The rope simply swings him out to his destination, the cool center, the darkest depths._

_As he falls, he turns his body in midair, and his hands part the water like a dark curtain._

_He feels the water glide past him. The cool darkness surrounds him. All the sounds of the world are captured into a low hum that pushes against his ears. The boy loves that sound. It is his secret song. But he would never tell anyone that._

_He senses the fish around him, silver streaks that always dart away before he gets too close. He isn’t bothered by that. He is content to swim alone, to navigate the stillness at his own pace. He wonders what he looks like to the fish that surround him._

_His lungs tighten. They start to burn. He holds out for as long as he can, wrapped in the cool deep, in the secret song, in the place that is his and his alone._

_When his head breaks through the surface, the water birds take flight, crying out in dismay. But he does not hear them._

_As he gulps in the air, and the only he sound he hears is the beating of his own heart._

_***_

“You were happy here.”

Cullen smiles, the sound of her voice calling him out of his reverie.

“I was. I loved my siblings, but they were very loud. I would come here to clear my head.”

He stands still, silently watching her. She looks out over the lake, the evening light rippling across the darkness, gold and red streaks that dance in the stillness of the dark water, highlighting the auburn hues of her hair. He notes the way her eyes soften, those dark eyes that hold so many mysteries. Her breathing slows and she smiles softly.

He realizes she is trying to love this place, to understand it for him. She is looking through it all, sifting through the ashes of his memories, trying to find the him beneath him.

He has never loved anything the way he loves her.

He looks out across the lake. The only sound is the soft lap of water on the edge of the tiny pier, the song of crickets, the gentle hum of insects. He smiles to himself, realizing how small the lake is. As a boy, it seemed enormous to him.

She turns to him, that soft smile settled into her features. She can never know, and he can never tell her, but her smile is a prayer he says each morning, her voice a whisper of hope in his darkest moments.

He reaches up, touching her face, his rough fingers tracing the line of her jaw. She tilts her head into his hand, a blush creeping up her cheek.

He feels a moment of fear, that sinking feeling in his stomach, the feeling of falling. He hopes the rope will catch him.

Cullen doesn’t care for words. Words are not the point. They only lead him to his destination, which is having her with him, always.

When he speaks, his words come out in a rushed whisper. “I love you.”

Her eyebrows arch in surprise, her dark eyes sparkling. The blush blooms over her face, and she is, in that moment, a creature more beautiful than any he has ever known.

When she whispers those words back to him, he feels the word peel back like a dark curtain. Her voice is his secret song, the song he hears before he falls asleep, the song that comforts him when he wakes, shivering in the darkness.

_She said it. She means it. She is mine._

Her arms surround him and his lips press into her hair, his lungs fill with her. Everything seems new to him, yet still the same, and it is a comfort beyond words. He is wrapped in the cool deep, in the secret song, in the place that is his and his alone.

When his lips find hers, the only sound he hears is the beating of his own heart.


End file.
